In Spaces

March 19, 2013 § 1 Comment

“It’s getting worse, Heinrich.”


“The thaumarc. It’s…worse somehow. Brighter. Or darker, I’m not sure.”

“It’s the rain, I heard. They say that the rain leeches light from the sky and brightens the arc.”

“Do they? And you believe that?”

“As much as I believe anything else these days. Why does it matter, anyway? So it’s brighter…”

“Or darker.”

“Or darker, whichever. It’s always there. It always will be there. Damned robes and their mumbling…”

“Mumbling which is different from our work in what way, exactly?”

“I don’t mumble and I don’t meddle. I investigate, catalogue and understand…and I don’t rend holes in the Aether just to poke a staff into it and see what happens!”

“I see. How is your en-djinn, by the way?”

“Working. Barely. I swear that fool Smink can’t tell the difference between brass and copper. I almost fused the coil yesterday!”

“And that’s bad?”

“Oh, no…only if you think that the loss of a half-year’s work and the subsequent, brutal death of a local businessman is a bad thing.”


“Yes, ‘ah’. Pass me that barsom-rod, would you?”


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